The Second Time
by perilouslips
Summary: Follow-up piece to The First Time. Rangiku can't get enough of her newest hobby.


Yeah, I wrote The First Time and it spawned like five other ideas in a similar vein. This is the first (er, second).

And in case anyone was wondering, the timeline for this is potentially sensible, but likely not. It lives in my head, which works well enough for me.

LET'S TALK ABOUT SPACESHIPS.

* * *

Ichigo allowed himself a shiver of content as he stepped into the steaming water. A hot shower was exactly what he needed after the day he'd had.

Toshirou's group had been in Karakura Town for just over three days and already he wanted to kill most of them. Rukia would never be anything but a stable fixture, and Renji at least seemed to be _trying_ to fit in (bad as he was at it), but no one else seemed to care very much for being covert.

Ikkaku still refused to leave his stupid wooden katana behind, Rangiku-san seemed incapable of keeping her exclamations about the wondrous Living World down to a dull roar, and Toshirou was doing his level best to stick out as much as possible just by being himself.

Not that his character stuck out much, but that hair was completely bizarre on someone his age. Or someone that _looked_ his age, anyway. But Ichigo didn't want to pick on him too much about it, considering that his own hair was a rather unnatural color for Japan. Also, the captain generally had his hands full trying to curb his vice-captain's enthusiasm.

And Ikkaku was receiving instant karma for his stubbornness, having been coerced into staying at Keigo's house again. Not that the guy would complain about free room and board, but it was quite difficult for him to ignore Keigo's sister this time around, as she was becoming most forceful in her affections. After all, he'd come back to her! _Voluntarily_!

Ichigo shook his head and soaked it thoroughly. He began to hum tunelessly as he lathered up his hair, massaging his scalp with a mind to get rid of at least one day's supply of tension.

The water thrummed pleasantly up his back as he moved into the spray to rinse. After his hair was clean, he just stood there, letting the water pressure beat his neck muscles into relaxation. _Mmmm_… fantastic. He lathered up a washcloth.

As he smoothed soap over his arms, he began to feel a tingle of want, and when he began to work the cloth over his chest, the tingles intensified. Lower, lower, cleaning, coaxing, feeling, _oh yes_, and he had a new avenue for tension release, one he took without hesitation, being well versed in the ways of self-pleasure by this point in his adolescent career.

Well, as far as he was concerned, not that he'd ever discussed it with anybody; his father had long cured him of any urge to do _that_.

_Hmmm… yeah, that's… there, there, _there…! Ichigo let the feeling take him, head rolling back, lips parted, tongue jammed between his teeth as he focused on coasting that last wave… Yes indeed. Just what he'd needed.

His consciousness began to return after his orgasm, as it inevitably must, but he felt much better about his ability to deal with people civilly now. It was only as he was giving himself a final rinse that he noticed her. And shrieked.

But not like a little girl, at least. More like a teenage boy who just been photographed during a very intimate moment.

Rangiku's only response to his pointed (and shaking) finger was, "Oh, I just popped in to do some makeup, figured you wouldn't mind."

"Buh, buh, buh…" Ichigo wished that accusation would stutter its way out sometime soon. Rangiku just looked at him.

"Buh- um, ah, cam-camera, why, what…"

"Ohhhhhh", Rangiku widened her eyes, too innocent to be true. "I was about to go out and snap some pictures of things, you know, to show Soul Society what it's really missing, so I had it with me. And there you were!" As if that explained everything.

Ichigo could only stare in open-mouthed horror.

The female shinigami giggled loudly. "Not that I would show these pictures to anyone in Soul Society… No, these are just for me." Then she sighed, touching her cheek. "I just can't help myself when I see such a fine specimen of masculinity."

Ichigo swallowed upon hearing that; he wasn't completely sure, since his brain was still rebooting, but that had an air of blackmail about it. He might have to start being a lot nicer to Rangiku-san from now on, if he could… His brain was on the ball enough to supply a well-placed _lousy old bitch_; he was inclined to agree with this assessment.

Rangiku was a bit disappointed in herself. She was being far too dramatic for this act of hers to be believable. But Ichigo was too red and fifteen-years-old to notice. Or was he sixteen now? Well, it hardly mattered. He had shrunk in on himself, looking like he would totally give her a piece of his mind if he wasn't so concerned with keeping himself covered up.

As if she hadn't just watched him spanking the monkey moments ago… What_ever_. Boys would be boys, that is to say, stupid. Let him think that his innocence would save him.

Holding back her wickedness, she winked in a genial way. "I'll keep this between us though, don't worry!" And then she popped back out of the bathroom to let him ruminate more fully on his shame. After all, she had stuff to do.

* * *

Ichigo hung up his towel, straightened his shirt, and, with a deep breath, opened the door. The hall was empty, as he had mostly expected it to be. _Hoped_ it would be.

I mean, she _had_ said she was going to keep it between them. And after thinking about it for a while, Ichigo realized that it would take quite a heinous infraction to merit any true anger on Rangiku-san's part, as she had a rather high bullshit tolerance (being quite full of it). Thus blackmail-level anger would be difficult to achieve and he felt safe enough to let his guard down a little. Everything was going to be fine.

But when he entered his room, he realized all was not right with the world. For one thing, Renji was laughing hysterically. This in itself wasn't necessarily strange, more so the fact that upon seeing Ichigo's confused face, Renji's laughter increased tenfold. Now he was actually on the floor gasping for breath. Rukia was sitting on the bed, shaking her head in disapproval. When Ichigo looked at her, she said, "I keep trying to explain why he shouldn't find this funny, but he doesn't get it. Sorry. I did try, though."

Ichigo now looked at Renji, who spluttered, "It's only funny because he was so into it he didn't even notice her until he FINISHED! Who does that? Ichigo," now the redhead met his gaze, "Ichigo, man, you are _hilarious_! Oh my god. Seriously, you've really gotta work on your sensesssshhhhhHAHAHAHA…" And then he was off again, literally rolling with laughter. But just as he rolled within stomping distance, Ikkaku burst into the room looking harried.

"Sorry for bustin' in like this, Ichigo, but I just hadta get away from that nut-ball. She's seriously planning our wedding or some shit. I just need an hour." He plunked himself down on the floor, heaving a huge sigh.

Renji, who had gone silent at the sudden intrusion, now resumed his snickering. "Apparently Ichigo only needs a couple of minutes."

"THE FUCK, RENJI, DON'T ACT LIKE YOU WERE THERE!" Ichigo kicked out at his verbal assailant, but his mortification made him clumsy, so instead of reaping justice, he overbalanced and landed hard on the floor. Renji continued to laugh like it was going out of style. Ichigo scowled. Now his pride _and_ his ass hurt.

"…And it was way longer than a couple of minutes, fuckwit!" He finished lamely, feeling like he needed to say something in his defense, since no one else would. His pride thanked him for trying.

Ikkaku gave him a meditative look. "Don't get yer panties in a twist, Ichigo. Timing don't matter unless you're with someone."

Ichigo contemplated this, and saw the point, but his scowl remained. In fact, it darkened a little. "Whatever. I'm not going to let him just sit there spouting slander. And who the hell told you anyway?"

Smart boy that he was, Ichigo already knew the identity of the guilty party. He just wanted confirmation and witnesses so that when he smothered Rangiku with her own breasts, he would not be blamed.

His opportunity came but a moment later when the woman herself entered the room, surveying the damage she'd done with a critical eye.

Again, Rangiku was disappointed. The reaction was nowhere near as fabulous as the one she'd managed with her taichou. Sure, Renji was laughing, but Rukia wasn't even giggling. Ikkaku was a silent guardian against the wall, until he flicked his head her direction.

"Bein' a little harsh, aren't ya?"

As Ichigo attempted to steel himself against the urge to murder, Rangiku tried to look harmless. She blinked down at the boy. "Whatever do you mean? I kept it between us, just like I said I would."

Ichigo felt like screaming at her, but refrained for what was left of his dignity's sake. She pouted back at him. "I mean, you knew I meant 'us' as in 'the group', right? Of course you did. What else would I mean?"

Completely lame rejoinder, but it's not like anything she could have said would have satisfied his anger anyway.

"I'm beginning to wonder." Ichigo swallowed. Calm, calm, keep it cool. It was just like Ikkaku said; this was nothing to get so upset about. Yes, it was embarrassing in an almost crippling way. Yes, he would probably have trouble enjoying himself in the shower for a little while. But hey, the only person making a big deal out of it was Renji, and who really cared what he thought anyway?

Ichigo felt slightly better and slightly more in control of himself. It was amazing what mere thinking could do to a person. He even managed to look Rangiku in the face without any adverse reactions.

It was then that Rangiku threw a bone at Rukia. Violently. "Rukia-chan keeps such a serious face."

The tiny death god sniffed. "Well, it's not like I don't know about these things. I _read_, you know. I just assumed from the beginning that that's why he took so long in the shower. No surprise, really."

The face of indifference that Ichigo had just started crafting shattered as a new wave of indignity swept over its tenuous foundations. Renji was once again lost to the giggles, and Ichigo felt that rage building back up. He decided that his best option was to just leave, so he got to his feet and did so, but encountered further issues once he got to the hallway.

Because Yumichika was lounging against the wall, waiting for him and looking far more devious than usual. All rage disappeared, leaving Ichigo with a vague prickling feeling that may or may not have been his fight-or-flight instinct kicking in.

"Don't let them give you a tough time, Ichigo. They're just jealous." The fifth seat's eyelids lowered seductively. "But hell, I am too."

"Uh, what?"

Yumichika chuckled throatily, and was suddenly a bit too close. Ichigo wasn't quite sure what to do, but what could one do when backed against the gates of hell with the devil himself in your face, grin implying all manner of sordid things and his hand on your ass?

Because yes, that was Yumichika's hand on his ass. Ichigo realized this right as the pretty fifth seat intoned, "I don't usually go for redheads, but I think I can make an exception in your case."

Then he squeezed. Hard.

And Ichigo squealed, this time exactly like a little girl. But give a guy a break; he wasn't used to anyone manhandling his delicate buttocks, the likes of which previously only knew the firm touch of chairs and the constant, reassuring embrace of pants.

He broke away down the hall, pounding down the stairs extra hard on account of his fresh embarrassment and subsequent anger.

"I'm more of a strawberry blond than a redhead anyway, you jerk!" He called over his shoulder, trying not to hear the quiet laughter he had left behind. His pride patted him on the shoulder, telling him that it appreciated the effort but really, it was okay to give up now.

Ichigo mussed up his hair as he stalked to the fridge. Maybe things would get better if he had a fucking snack.

"Too much for you, huh?"

He wheeled around at the voice, the mild tone of it only serving to rile him further, and found himself in the company of the captain of the tenth division. Said captain was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping some tea. There was a newspaper spread out in front of him, but his eyes were on Ichigo, who was actually having a bit of trouble keeping his angry face on. Most of the anger was still present, but everything was fading to sulky at the edges.

Ichigo had kind of been hoping that maybe Toshirou, being a captain and all, would be mature enough to leave him the hell alone about this stupid thing. Of course, when he looked closely, he saw no laughter in the light blue eyes that stared back at him. In fact, he saw…

Understanding?

No. How could… This was Hitsugaya Toshirou. Even if he did that sort of thing, there's no way…

Hitsugaya watched realization dawn on the strawberry's face. He closed his eyes and sipped his tea. He opened them again. The boy looked drained.

"Really?"

Hitsugaya nodded. "Really. She got me good. Rubbed it in more too, though I suppose the abuse was spread much thinner." He set his teacup down and frowned. "Count yourself lucky. We have quite a bit of time here in Living World, so she could have dragged this out for our entire visit, you know." He eyed his counterpart.

"So…"

"So I'm saying I understand perfectly. And sympathize. Though I was lucky enough to avoid visual documentation of my exploits."

Ichigo watched the smaller death god finish his tea, then stand to take the cup to the sink. Without thinking about it, he placed a hand on top of the snowy head that had come within his reach, flattening the downy hair.

Captain Hitsugaya did not really like to be touched; regardless, he realized that some people didn't care what others wanted. Thus there was a small contingent of folk he knew to expect such things from. Kurosaki Ichigo was on the in-between list; it wasn't expected, but the boy certainly had the type of attitude where he would touch someone if he damn well felt like it. This did not stop Hitsugaya from sending an irate glance his direction.

Ichigo paid him no mind. He slid his hand off Hitsugaya's head and leveled it against his chest. Then he cocked his head and met the glance that was rapidly becoming a glare.

"Hormones, huh?"

Hisugaya sighed tiredly, brow furrowed as he turned away.

"Something like that, yeah."


End file.
